I want it all… with Brooks.
He’s so goddamn perfect. I wasn’t just saying those things to him yesterday to blow smoke in mirrors—pun intended. I meant it. He doesn’t even realize just how attractive he is. But it goes deeper than just surface level looks—he’s every bit as beautiful as his soul.
That’s not what he sees, however. He’s got insecurities regarding his weight and his appearances, and I could bet all my chips on whomthosecame from. Brooks also sees himself as useless unless he’s providing a service to someone. With every part of me, I want to correct his line of thinking. I’m a fixer by nature, and I want to help him see that he’s so much more than an instrument of servitude.
With his own two hands, he’s raised a whole decent human being. He’s built this camp as a haven for healing and growth. He’s had to overcome societal prejudices just to live out loud and proud. He setaside his own grief, shouldering it alone, so that no one would feel burdened to care for him.
He’s so much more than he gives himself credit for, and I don’t want him doing any of that all by himself anymore.
You know, you sound like someone who’s in love…
You evenlookhappy.
It’s different, but it’s a good look for you.
This time, the voice that whispers to me isn’t harsh or negative. It isn’t even Gordy’s voice. Hell, it doesn’t even seem like a voice at all. Rather, it feels like a being, speaking straight into my soul, but I recognize who it belongs to, either way.
Tears well in my eyes as I whisper, “thank you,” back to Miranda’s voice—somewhere in the ether.
I love you, Evan. Despite our differences, I never once hated you. I just wanted to move on so we could both be happy, and you weren’t fulfilled with me.
I am at peace here, trust this. Colton is in very capable hands, and our boy deserves to see this side of you. You gave me everything I ever needed when you gave me him. I died a fulfilled helper and a mother to a wonderful, charismatic, tender-hearted son. I wouldn’t trade that for the world.
In my final years, I know we shared some harsh words, but the truth of it is, I wanted both of us to be able to be happy. You and I were both always better as just friends. I did know love though, so don’t worry about that. You did give me everything I wanted. Without you, I wouldn’t have been able to pursue my dreams, and I wouldn’t have had Colton. For that, I was immeasurably blessed.
You gave me both of those.
I went peacefully and quickly, so leave your guilt behind. I’m happy now. Watching you two bond again brings me great joy. My time onEarth may have been up, but only because I had other responsibilities that I’m just now realizing.
You meeting Brooks was no accident.
I reunited with a friend here, another mother, one who needed help healing from the guilt she lived with until the day she herself died. Now that you and Brooks have found each other, I think we can both move on. Our kids are happy, healthy, and in good hands.
Our loved ones are finally who they belong with, too.
When he wakes up, tell Brooks that Ryann says she loves him with her whole heart, and because she says he’ll be skeptical, remind him that no one puts on a better Garth Brooks cover concert in his tighty-whities quite like her Brooky Beaver.
Suddenly, a breeze blows by us, and all the external sounds I didn’t realize had muted come back into focus. Leaves rustle. The laughter of raucous kids, around the point at camp, becomes noticeable. Waves slap against the rocks on the edge of the lake.
“Brooky Beaver?” I whisper into the void, with a little chuckle.
Brooks’ head suddenly jerks up, he studies my face, and in a groggy voice, he croaks, “What did you just say?”
“Weird question, but did you ever dance around in tighty-whities and sing Garth Brooks?”
His face drains of color and his jaw drops.
“Who told you that?” he stammers. “For the record, I was eight! But seriously, who told you that? Where’d you hear Brooky Beaver? No one’s called me that since—”
“Since Ryann,” I cut him off.
The look he gives me now tells me two things: One, I wasn’t just imagining Miranda talking to me from the great beyond somewhere, and two, he thinks I’ve gone bat shit mad. And maybe he’s right, I mean, that’s some seriousSixth Senseshit, hearing dead people. I can’teven explain it myself, but, either way, it fills me with an overwhelming feeling of peace, instead of dread or unease. It feels as if I’ve just been released from years of captivity.
He nods, still regarding me skeptically as if I just sprouted a narwhal horn.
“I can’t explain it,” I tell him, “but the only voice that spoke to me this morning was Miranda’s. She says she’s with Ryann. That meeting you was no accident. That she’s at peace, and that your sister is too. Miranda told me to tell you Ryann loves you with her whole heart, and to call you Brooky Beaver so that you’d know it was her…”
His mouth pops open and shuts again, like a fish out of water. His eyes flit around my face, likely looking for any hint of a lie. He won’t find any. I’m just as stunned as he is, truthfully. “Before I got braces, she always called me her Brooky Beaver,” he finally admits, tears lining his lower lids.
